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I had a date Saturday night.  Rather than be creative or at all interesting, we opted for a movie at my place.  I’m quickly realizing the only good taste non-troll doll has is in women, because this is the second worst movie I’ve seen in the past month.  The other god awful movie was also his pick.

I’m not kidding, this movie was so boring I pulled out my iPhone and read the newspaper while he continued to watch.  I continued to refill my wine glass, and even that didn’t make the movie better.  I whined enough that he finally turned the movie off, gave me a kiss and went home.

The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen for coffee and vitamins–the breakfast of champions, yo!  While I waited for the coffee to brew I grabbed a handful of vitamins and reached for an orange vitamin drink that had been left on my counter. I tossed the pills into my mouth and took a giant swig of the orange drink.

Something didn’t taste right.  In fact it was downright disgusting. I spit the drink and pill concoction into the sink.  Still gagging over the taste, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and picked up the drink for a closer inspection.  I’d somehow forgotten he’d mixed a few shots of vodka into the drink.  Warm vodka is one of the least pleasant things to experience on a Sunday morning.  Well that, and church.

RLO met the new guy I’m dating last night.  The guy that I’ve promised not to liken to a troll doll on the Internet anymore.  Oops, I did it again.   OK, starting NOW I’m not going to liken him to a troll doll on this website.  That one doesn’t count.  Right?

Anyway.  The point.  I have one.

RLO and the non-troll doll guy met for the first time last night.  Today RLO mentioned that the new guy was cool.  RLO’s opinion means so much to me that I mentioned it to the new guy.

Him: “So RLO liked me, eh?”

Me: “He did.”

Him: “Is that just because he thinks that I’m easily manipulated and that I’ll be sharing his workload.  The workload being you of course.”

Me:  “I’m not work.  I’m a hobby.”

Him: “I like that.  You’re going to be my new favorite hobby.”

This is where the conversation should have ended, but nooooo.  He felt that it was important to share with me an imaginary conversation.

“So what do you do with your spare time?”
“Oh, I listen to music nobody’s ever heard of, work on my motorcycle, and a dabble a bit in Sarah?”
“Sarah? I could never figure that one out–too complicated.  Had to drop that hobby the moment I picked it up.”
“Yeah, I hear you. But it’s supposed to have its payoffs–I just haven’t figured them out yet…”

I laughed and decided to keep him. For now.  But the minute this turns sour I’m totally blaming RLO.

Last night when I likened the new guy I’m dating to a troll doll he should have kicked me out of his house, forcing me to walk home.  Instead, he kissed the top of my head and continued to rub my arm while we finished the movie we were watching.

Either he really, really gets me or he has a well-hidden masochistic side.  Only time will tell.

The more time I spend with the new guy the more I don’t hate him.  And truthfully, I should hate him.  He laughs at me when I get angry.  Which, of course, only makes me angrier.  He then laughs harder.  It’s a never-ending cycle of abuse.

And if that weren’t enough reason to hate him, he didn’t know who Anderson Cooper was.  Tragic!  He also has the worst taste in music. He’s never even heard of Wilco or Ben Folds.  CAN YOU IMAGINE?

It gets worse. Way worse.

He forced me to sit though the worst sitcom in the entire world last night.  Outside of a replacement for waterboarding no one should ever be subjected to The Big Bang Theory.

And you know what?

This makes me adore him more.  FUCK.

To read this week’s column for In Utah This Week click here. This week I skip local entertainment and write about my dating life. I know, I know… zip it.

But really, how could I not talk publicly about a guy who didn’t mind when I rented this movie on his Blockbuster account:

OK, he did complain for a brief second, but I was able to talk him into it by batting my lovely long eyelashes. SUCKER!

Note to self: It’s flip-flop season, not high-heel season.  I HAVE to start dating shorter men as soon as possible.  My arches will thank me later. 

Last weekend I received an email that shook me to the core. No, not freebie bacon enhanced vitamin water offers, BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE? I would bath in that stuff! It’s funny that for someone who dislikes meat so much (insert your own dirty joke) to love bacon. I pretend it’s made from soybeans–tasty pig-flavored soybeans.

But I digress.

The email was from Flyboy, or Captain America as Rlo nicknamed him. Remember the summer I spend dating him? Me too. Sigh…

I’ve questioned my decisions to break-up with him for two years now. And with just one email I got the closure I needed. Flyboy was deployed to Iraq. Suddenly the future I played out so many times in my head with him was shot down. Just like that.

Death frightens me. It’s just so… you know, final. I know myself well enough to know I’d be a mess the entire time if we had stayed together. A mess that even a good Shiraz and Xanax couldn’t fix. All this time I’ve hated myself for ending things, and now I’m selfishly happy that I did. I’m not strong enough to deal with the fear of someone I love dying, day in, and day out.

I wish him well, and if I knew his girlfriend’s address I’d send her a case of red wine and a bottle of Xanax. She’s going to need it.

After an especially crummy day yesterday, the child guy I’m dating took me to dinner at my favorite pub. Yes, he’s of legal drinking age. Barely. I know I really should have a blog name for him, but I typically use people’s initials and his initials are bad luck for me, and seeing them on a constant basis would make me even more superstitious than I already am.

I don’t recall the exact comment I made, but he called me difficult. Me? Difficult? I should have been more offended than I was, but I’m fully aware of how difficult I can be so I just shook it off.

Later that night, however, I just couldn’t shake his observation. I couldn’t decide if he was calling me difficult in a joking matter, or if he was serious. I called and asked him, “On a scale of one to ten, ten obviously being the highest, how difficult am I?”

Without a moment of hesitation he replied, “I’d say 6.5-7.” I was crushed. Anything above a four is of concern. Then again, I know if I called and asked my mom the same question she would tell me I was of the charts at a 99.5 on a scale of one to ten. Somehow knowing that put it all into perspective and I didn’t take away his Pokemon cards as punishment.

Last night while hanging out at very, VERY young guys house, his roommate walked in. He started to introduce me to the roomie, and everything froze. Shit. This could totally be the end of a good thing. I’m so weird about this, well, and everything really… If he introduced me as someone he’s dating I’d feel too much pressure. Did I mention I’m a total lunatic?

And then I heard the magical words I needed, “This is my friend Sarah.”

Bingo. We’ve got a winner.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s done everything right so far. Three tickets to see Wilco: one for me, one for him and one for whomever he’s dating at the time. Calm down, Internet! That’s what I wanted.

In fact the only thing he’s done wrong is being born in the wrong year, and I can’t be too hard on the boy. His age is really his mom’s fault, not his. Seriously, how selfish of her. Is it really too much to ask that she be doing it four years earlier?

I absolutely love Wilco, yet I’ve never heard them play. Sad, right? Not to fret my lovelies, they are coming to SLC this summer!

So when a guy I recently met mentioned buying tickets and having us go together I wasn’t exactly sure how to feel. Obviously it would be fun to go with him, but the concert isn’t until mid-August. The concert will, without a doubt, sell out fast. So do I want to risk saying yes and then if we aren’t still hanging out be stuck without a ticket? Hell to the no. I kid you not about my love of Jeff Tweedy. But then I also don’t want to risk offending him, since he seems like a pretty cool guy. Ahhhhh, what to do??

At dinner last night he mentioned his age. This shouldn’t be a big deal, but I thought he was older than he really is. He’s 28, which is a whopping four years younger than me. FOUR WHOLE YEARS! This guy is a kid; he’s in his 20s!! I’m sure he’d mentioned his age, but as you can see by all my editing mistakes on this blog… I suck with small details. With this newfound knowledge my decision is made: I’m buying my own ticket. I can’t risk him outgrowing me before the concert.

And if that’s not enough to make me a bitchy person, I bring you my latest foot in mouth moment…

Yesterday while getting on the elevator, my CUTE! polka dot shoes nearly made me trip. The two men in the elevator looked at me curiously and I said, “Sorry, it seems like I’m having a gimp day.” Neither man said a word to me, and went back to their conversation.

Two floors later the elevator stopped and they stepped out, one walking with a VERY distinct limp. The other man turned and gave me the look of death. Great. Just great. I’ve moved from offending Republicans to the handicapped.